In Another Life
by melmzzz
Summary: A place for all of my Rovinsky fluff, I guess.


Ronan awoke to a terrible banging on the door. He checked the alarm clock that sat on his bedside table. It blinked out 2:34 am. He swore and turned over, pulling the blanket up over his ears. It had been one of the few nights he'd managed to sleep, and he wasn't about to indulge in whoever had thought it was a good idea to disturb him.

But the banging continued, gradually getting louder and louder, until he was forced to get out of bed and check who it was. Whoever it was, they could expect a hearty punch to the face.

When he threw the door open, it was none other than Joseph Kavinsky who stumbled toward him.

"What up, Lynch?" The booze on his breath nearly knocked Ronan over. There was vomit on his t-shirt and his signature white-framed sunglasses perched crookedly across his nose. He looked like it was all he could do to keep himself upright.

"I'm about ten seconds from breaking your goddamn nose, K."

"Jesus, don't be so…_antisocial_." The last word was slurred so that it had eight syllables instead of four. Ronan rolled his eyes.

"I'm not in the mood."

"Right, Dick takes care of all that." He waved a hand in the general vicinity of Ronan's crotch.

"What the fuck do you want?" Gansey wasn't around, he was visiting his parents for the weekend, and Noah had disappeared as usual, but that didn't mean he wanted Kavinsky there. This was _Gansey's_ space, and Kavinsky was getting his underworld all over it. It felt like a monumental betrayal just to have Kavinsky standing there in the doorway.

"Come on, Lynch. Don't you want to party?" He tripped over his own feet as he said this, and grabbed the closest thing for support, which just happened to be Ronan's arm. Instinctively, Ronan reached out too, supporting Kavinsky by his waist.

"Don't you think you've had enough?"

"It's never enough." The laugh was gone from his voice, his words somber, almost sober in their intensity.

He couldn't turn him away. The kid was about five minutes away from passing the fuck out, and then he'd have an unconscious teenager on his doorstep.

Ronan put his shoulder under Kavinsky's armpit, his own arm wrapping around his waist, supporting his weight. He'd just wait for him to sober up then kick him out. That's all.

He hauled him over to the bathroom, just in case he had to throw up again. He'd rather not clean vomit off of Gansey's books.

Ronan dropped Kavinsky rather unceremoniously by the toilet, then turned to leave, but stopped by the sink, leaning his hip against it.

"Why did you come here, K?"

"Where else would I go?" He pulled himself up onto his knees and lurched over the toilet, spewing a fresh load of vomit into the porcelain bowl. He retched and retched until all he could do was dry heave, his cheeks turning red from the effort. Ronan turned away, a mixture of disgust and pity contorting the planes of his face. It was fucking weird seeing Kavinsky so vulnerable.

When he looked back, Kavinsky was propped up against the tub, head slung back, one arm resting on the toilet bowl. His glasses lay on the floor next to him, and his eyes were closed. He almost looked peaceful. Ronan allowed himself to watch him for a moment, just a moment.

"You can't stay here," Ronan said.

"Can't go anywhere else."

"Could go home."

His lips turned up in a sneer. "Where mommy dearest is blowing her latest dealer? I don't need another reason to throw up."

Ronan let out an exasperated sigh. Why was he even indulging him? He should have just slammed the door in his face. Before he could decide not to, he was helping Kavinsky up, taking off his shirt, unbuttoning his pants.

"Damn, Lynch, taking advantage of me?" There was no joke in his voice.

"Shut up." When Kavinsky was down to his boxers, he told him to get in the tub.

"Can I trust you not to drown yourself?"

"I'm not totally incompetent."

"Could have fooled me." But he turned the tap on anyway, the water cascading from the shower. He waited until the water ran hot. "Clean yourself up, I'll wait outside."

"You should join me, Lynch." He was laughing as he said it, then hiccupped twice.

For a moment, Kavinsky looked up at him, eyes glassy from the booze or drugs or whatever he was one. He had never seen him look so bare, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he was wearing next to nothing. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words never found their way to his lips. Ronan was the first to break eye contact.

Ronan closed the door gingerly behind him and leaned up against the door. What was he even doing? God if Gansey knew he'd let Kavinsky into his _home_, he'd probably punch Ronan himself.

Ronan grabbed an old pair of sweatpants and a random t-shirt from his room. He opened the door again, and tossed the clothing onto the sink. The room had filled with fog in the short moments since he'd left. From the corner of his eye, he caught movement, and his head turned before he could stop himself. He saw Kavinsky's form behind the shower curtain, long and lean and hunched over, arms wrapped around his middle. Ronan averted his eyes from the moment of weakness he had inadvertently stumbled upon and leaned the door closed again.

From inside the bathroom, he heard Kavinsky bumping into the tub, dropping something in the shower, slurring a string of curses, and finally, the tap shutting off. After a few more long moments, Kavinsky emerged, hair damp and donning Ronan's clothing.

"You going to make me some chicken soup and tea too, _mommy_?" He sneered the statement, voice slightly clearer than before, thought he could still barely stand on his own, but Ronan let it roll off him.

"Come on, you can sleep in my room." He only offered because there was nowhere else he was willing to let Kavinsky sleep. There was no way in hell he'd let him anywhere near Gansey's bed, and Noah was unpredictable enough to reappear at any moment, so his room was out. Kavinsky stumbled forward and Ronan caught him, supporting his weight. He lead him to his room and flopped him onto the bed, pulling the blankets over him, then turned to leave. He might not be willing to let Kavinsky sleep on Gansey's bed, but that didn't mean he couldn't.

Something caught his arm. Ronan looked down. The moonlight coming in through the windows cast shadows on six distinct scars draw horizontally across Kavinsky's pale wrist, too perfect to be an accident. They were an angry shade of red, so they weren't too old, but they weren't fresh either. A million questions flooded his mind, but he couldn't find the right words for any of them.

"Stay." Kavinsky's eyes were closed and his voice was barely a whisper, but Ronan heard him loud and clear. Then, "Please, Ronan."

Ronan bit his lip and considered his options. He could leave. He _should_ leave. He had no reason to stay, no obligation to Kavinsky. He was already doing way more than he should have. He didn't owe him anything.

But the way he'd said it…Ronan found his legs decided for him, leading him around to the other side of the bed, crawling on top of the covers, lying as far away from Kavinsky as was possible, which left about three feet of insurmountable space between them.

Kavinsky rolled over, bridging the gap between them. His eyes were closed, breathing shallow. Ronan watched him sleep. He studied the planes of his face, the sharp line of his nose, the curve of his cheeks, his chin, the dark pits surrounding his eyes, his lips, thin and pressed together like he was holding back a flood of secrets. He wondered what happened to this boy. What his father had done to him. Whether the rumours were true and he really had tried to kill his dad. He wondered about the scars. What had pushed him to that moment?

In his sleep, Kavinsky reach over and his hand brushed Ronan's. Their fingers were barely touching, but every nerve in Ronan's body was alive and on fire. He stared at their hands, pinkies intertwined. _Pull away. Move. Just an inch. Come on Lynch, move._

He moved. He moved all the way off the bed. Across the room. In the doorway. He didn't know what just happened but he didn't want it to happen again.

From the bed, he thought he heard a whispered apology, but decided he'd imagined it.

Ronan didn't think he would sleep that night, he just lay in Gansey's bed, thinking. He couldn't remember falling asleep, but he must have, because he woke up to the sound of a door closing softly. It was still dark out. When he went to his room, Kavinsky was gone, the sheets still warm from his body heat, pillow damp from his hair.

Outside he heard the squeal of tires against pavement. His phone buzzed.

_see you on the streets_


End file.
